


Home Is Behind

by DaughterofDurin



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Bottom Thorin, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Sex, Slash, dub-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 21:59:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9404735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterofDurin/pseuds/DaughterofDurin
Summary: The battle of Azanulbizar (between the Dwarves of all seven houses, and the orcs of the Misty Mountains) has just ended, leaving King Thrain II short of one son, and Thorin a self-loathing older brother. The events led to the Aesir King Odin offering aid to the dwarves, and agreeing on a treaty to help the Dwarves rebuild their home. Hlóriði, son of King Odin would marry Thorn, son of Thrain son of Thror to unite the two houses (Durin and Odinson) .





	1. Son of Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> (AN: Alright so this story is set during the year TA 2799 in Tolkien universe. Niðavellir is the same as Khazad-Dum in this story, or Moria. Also, I will refer to “Thor as Hlóriði another name for the god of thunder. This is based off Norse Mythology. So no blonde brute, or raven haired Loki. The plot however, is similar and I have taken some scenes from the movies to incorporate into this. Thorin on the other hand, is based completely off of Peter Jackson’s trilogy as well as the other dwarves. Their background not so much.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The time has come for you to be betrothed.” Odin says simply, not bothering to glance at his son. Hlóriði halted minutely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE*  
> Revising some chapters because I've sort of changed the story a bit...it's been a while..gotta keep myself motivated c:

Hlóriði rammed his hammer against the width of yet another jotun; unmoved by its towering frame. The force shoves him backwards, momentarily distracting him from another Ice giant, slowly imposing its way through his kin to reach the prince.

“To your left!” Freyr called, gracefully sliding from the grasp of a giant, blonde hair falling to frame his face like a veil. Hlóriði grunted, attention reverting to the horde attempting to surround him.

One more, he called upon the forces of weather, lightning engulfing his hammer and erupting in a bright flash to extinguish his enemies.

“We need to head further away from the village,” Freyr yelled over the clashing of steel and breaking bone. “Far from the people, I will lead them astray.” The fair Vanir searched the weeping land for his forgotten chariot, his sturdy arms lifting the overturned cart, and grasping the reins tight. “Keep an eye on those who do not follow.”  

“Will do.” Hlóriði’s hair was a mess of dirt and blood, red braids falling loose beneath his helm. From the corner of his eye, two large ravens could be seen perched upon a towering oak, beady black eyes baring inquisitively into his own. “What is it now?” He grumbled, unwilling to let his father's watchmen distract him long enough to suffer another injury. It seemed as if more Jotun were advancing the hill, but from where? Mjolnir in hand, the mighty “G-d” strode up the mountain, tunic shredded upon his broad frame as he sent numerous charred corpses rolling down behind him. “You dare defy I? Hlóriði, son of Odin son of Bor? God of _Thunder_?” His voice was monstrous and cold, as his challengers recoiled before him. “Onwards! Return from whence thee came!” Chest stuck out like a buck in spring, Hlóriði watched as the giants descended; ground shaking from their feet. He returned to the large village just in time to meet up with Freyr on his chariot.

“All is well?” Freyr asked, chest heaving with exhaustion. Hlóriði nodded stiffly, returning mjolnir to its rightful place on his hip.

“For now. Wait for me, I wish to see you off before you leave.” Hlóriði replied, wiping grime from his forehead.

“Where do you go? To the bathing halls, if so my friend I beg to join thee.”

“Nay. You are familiar with Munin and Hugin?” Freyr nodded. “I believe they wished to give word of my father. I saw them in battle. They beckoned me when I would not go. “

“Tend to those who seek you brother. We shall meet when the task is fit.”

“And if I seek you?” Freyr offered his friend a genuine smile.

“Shall you seek me...you know where to find me.” Hlóriði clasped the slender mans shoulder squeezing briefly as he turned away.

.

Hlóriði found nothing pleasant in the twinkle that comprised his father's icy blue eyes. He learned to be cautious of the aged warrior, and the secrets and “surprises” he tended to throw onto he and Loki’s shoulders.

“Might I have a word with you my son?” Odin’s voice was thick and raspy, Hlóriði figured it was from so many battle cries, Loki saying it was from age. He gave a grunt in response. His coronation was in a matter of days, and he had no time to waste, especially with his father's unfortunately long talks. He could not deny the man, for he was also his king… so the talks would have to be endured. Obediently stepping up to the throne, he bowed respectively. Raising a hand, the Allfather motioned for him to rise. “The war was as expected, failure. It seems just as the dwarves, we underestimated the orcs.” This didn’t seem to be what Odin initially wanted to address. The man was stalling.

“How many of our troops were loss?” Hlóriði questioned, smoothing down the fabric of his trousers. Odin sighed, taking his hat off to scratch his head.

“The casualty of the orc and dwarves were greater. There being only a handful of dwarves left in Khazad-Dum. Prince Frerin was one of the many lost.”

“Serves Thror right! The oaf cared for nothing more than what riches were to be mined from those mountains. What enchanted gold he could find, and for what bargain. They are no better than the giants that tower above them.”

“Have you forgotten it was a dwarf, that gifted you that hammer? A gift to you from King Thrain himself? Have you no respect for those who do you good?”

“I respect those respectable. Thror is no man deemable of that honor. Nor is Thrain, or any burdened to bear the name of Durin!” Odin said nothing, nodding at Hlóriði’s outburst.

“And what makes you deemable to the respect you deny to them?” Odin questions, a smile tugging at the corners of his thin lips. Hlóriði bristled, crossing his arms over a wide chest.

“I am a God-

“You are not. We live and die just as mortal men.” Odin cut in nonchalantly.

“Not without interference of others. How many of us have died from a cold or chill? How many of our children have suddenly left us for Hel in their sleep?”

“Again… you have failed to see my point, Hlóriði. Their are great Kings and good men. Which are you?”

“I- Hope to be a great King.” Odin sighed for the third time, pushing up from his chair to stand.

“Understandable my son. But not what I was looking for.

“Pray do tell what you were looking for father?” Hlóriði called as the man began walking away. Odin stopped.

“A good man willing to compromise the desires of himself for the betterment of his people. A good man willing to look not with his eyes, nor fists, but with his mind.”

“Knowledge is not everything.” Hlóriði retorted.

“Neither is strength so it seems.” Hlóriði snorted, blue eyes staring angrily after his father- his king. There could be no other who could frustrate him more...well one person, and he was peeping through the door.

“Nephew.” The silken voice says. “I thought I heard you in here.” The man was tall and thin, with wide shoulders and narrow hips, his long red hair was loose upon his shoulders, long and well cared for. Emerald green eyes held a mischievous glint that his lips could not foretell.

“Loki.” Hlóriði greeted gruffly, not in the mood to play with the older male at the moment.

“Why so grim?” Loki questioned, stepping in cautiously. “There’s too much to be joyous about, rather than sulking.”

“I do not sulk.” Hlóriði growled back, Loki’s feral grin growing wider.

“You will soon~” Loki sang, strumming his fingers along Hlóriði’s chest. “Without a doubt.”Hlóriði grunted in reply, walking swiftly to catch his father.

“I can compromise.” Hlóriði said, finally stepping to walk alongside the aging man, who refused to show his age, back straight and regal as ever.

“The time has come for you to be betrothed.” Odin says simply, not bothering to glance at his son. Hlóriði halted minutely.

“Wed. “ He repeated. “Why now?”

“The treaty has come to date. You do remember?” Odin raised a bushy brow, to which Hlóriði shrugged.

“I had thought it only means to amuse me. Hadn’t had time to think with the duties of being your son.”

“It makes no difference.”

“But you promised me Sif not too long ago. You said I could court her.”

“What is a King without secrets?”

“I wish to be faithful to the ones I love. I long fruitful marriage father, that will not happen should I be given a dwarf! Let him be as I am without!”

“I cannot turn back on my word Hlóriði! Was it not you, who promised to do Asgard some good? To give to the poor and make a lesson from the mighty? You had no qualms about this arrangement when I first brought it up to you.”

“That was some twenty years ago. I am a man now, I know what I want, what will-” Hlóriði cut himself off, frown smoothing out. “I will not allow you to subject me to a life of misery! A dwarf can and will never be ANYTHING I deem worth my love OR respect. If you care so much for King Thrain’s empty ties, marry the damned dwarf yourself!”


	2. Obligation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your father told me to give this to you should something happen to him. I thought to wait at least a while longer, but seeing as to how it cannot be put off much longer…

The skies were grey and silent. Thorin stood over his younger brother’s tomb, face pallid and solemn.

“He died fighting.” A voice says, hand coming to smooth over his back. “Do not let his death be in vain.”

“I only wished it were me instead.” Thorin replied, voice raspy from lack of use. “Why couldn’t it have been me instead Balin?” Thorin turned to the elder dwarf, whose brown eyes held empathy for the young prince.

“Mahal knows we lost a great fighter, but what can we do now?”

“I- He was...I sound selfish. You too lost your own father Balin. Yet you do not mourn.”

“Aloud.” Balin corrected. “Now wipe your face. The council comes.” Both turned to see a group of stern looking dwarven elders  marching down the pathway, a parcel in the front man's hand. “Quick now.” Balin ushered, handing Thorin his handkerchief. Thorin dabbed his face, which turned into a frown as the parcel was handed out to him.

“Your father told me to give this to you should something happen to him. I thought to wait at least a while longer, but seeing as to how it cannot be put off much longer…

“Did he tell you what it was?” Thorin questioned, taking the parcel and quickly peeling of the traditional Durin seal. The council shared looks, one clearing his throat.

“He did not.” Was the simple reply, before they turned and left from whence they came. Inside was a purple flower; its leaves dry and withered. It smelled of lavender. There was also a few letters inside, one seemingly new, the others yellowed with age. He took the eldest one dated 2750 in unfamiliar handwriting:

 

_To my dearest Thorin,_

_I will watch you grow from afar. As you learn to crawl, take your first steps , or form words to soon flow from your lips like the springs of these mountains. May Mahal remind you that we are not born from stone, that you have a mother who loved you as the shore does the moon._

###    


There was no name at the end. The letter-note simple in its message. He could conclude however that it was his mother, whom he had very little dealings with. He would always sneak to look at her when the adults were holding court. She was very beautiful, and many people said that her children took after her and not their father Thrain.

“A letter. From my mother.” Thorin answers to Balin’s questioning gaze.

“Nanna.” Balin whispered. Thorin wondered why his mother would write to him, instead of speaking to he and his siblings when they were younger. They were always around, and would’ve enjoyed her company as opposed to a wet nurse. Were they too wild when they were younger, and scared the dwarrowdam off? How Dis and Frerin would run naked in the halls to taunt their caretaker while he laughed and cheered him on? Frerin, his lost brother. Their last words were yelled, a heated argument over something trivial., and Frerin had stalked away to the fields. That was the last time they spoke. Throat tightening again with grief, Thorin swallowed thickly at an act to compose himself.

“Please excuse me, I wish to finish these alone.” He muttered quickly, all but running to his chambers and slamming the door behind him. The fireplace had already been ignited, flames eating the dry wood, demanding more as they crackled and spit out embers like a fastidious child. Three months since the battle of Azanulbizar, waging forces between the orcs and dwarves. A costly victory, which still led them nowhere. The King estranged, families in grievance over lost ones. Even Dis, his strong baby sister was in disarray. All the letters were nothing more than logs of wealth within the lost mountain, and his Grandfather’s accounts of lost battles. As interesting as they were, they did little to ease the agitation peeping over his shoulder. Luckily, he found a pitcher of ale by his bedside, filling a cup and gulping it down. He filed it once more, before drinking that one as well. It wasn’t enough to give him that fuzzy feeling he liked… Thorin walked over to the window and reflected on his cold surroundings. He hated Ered Luin with a passion. It was dark and dank smelling, a bitter reminder of how he and his people were forced from their home by the dragon Smaug. . It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel depressed. Sighing, Thorin took a seat on his bed, shrugging off thick layers of clothing, until he was left in a simple tunic and pants. He could roam the halls just like this, should he be summoned. There was one letter that caught his eye the most. It was ripped at the edges, and appeared to have been burned. It’s seal was a series of intercrossed triangles. There was no address, but reading it, it started off like a treaty:

###    


_I, Odin, son of Borr, son of Búri, write to you in hopes of an alliance between the house of Durin, and my own- Odinson. Your people have been assaulted long enough without aid, and it is unsettling to see such a strong force be brought down by the means of orcs._

_I understand that you received no help from the elves, but I question why you deemed it wise to seek no further. And with my question answered, add that had you sought out farther than the Mountains, you would’ve found my troops readily at your command. With this mentioned alliance Asgard would forever be your brother in arms, fighting alongside you at any given moment. How will this alliance be executed- I will be rather blunt with this thought, in hopes you will cease to mock me. Marriage. Yes, a marriage between a child of mine- Odin Borson, and yours- Thrain, King under the mountain._

_It is known to me that only one daughter was born to you, and that she was given to the well known victorious General Vili, the moment she reached courting age, and that you haven’t any other dwarrowdams in the line of Durin. Perhaps this proposition would be befitting for the cause. Your eldest son, and heir, Thorin, to be wedded to my son and heir Thor. Understand that because it is  I that proposed this treaty, Thorin will take the name of Odinson as he is invited into the house of my son, and come to live with his husband in Asgard. I would suggest the Spring of 2800, when both are of common age._

_-The Allfather_

Thorin read the letter twice over, laughing at the end, and lying back on his bed. The laughing turned into angry breaths as realization set in. _Aesir. Marry. Thorin. Odin_. He let out an inhuman yell, throwing the letter into the fire. Blood boiling, Thorin grabbed at his hair, pacing the room back and forth.

“Thorin! Are ye okay in there lad?” A voice shouts from behind the thick oak doors of his bedroom. “Heard ya scream.”

“I’m fine Dwalin.” Thorin yelled back. “Mind somewhere else.”

“Mindin’ you at the moment. Gonna let me in or not?”

“NO.” Thorin groaned, turning back to the letter that had yet to shrivel into ash.

“Well why not?” Dwalin questioned impatiently.  “Got another lad in there with ya?” The door was wrenched open, and Dwalin pulled in.

“WHAT. DO. YOU. WANT?” Thorin growled, teeth clenching together in anger.

“I heard you scream-

“Yell.” Thorin corrected, tucking a strand of wavy black hair behind his ear, before crossing his arms in annoyance.

“S’pose it's bout yer father?” Dwalin inferred. “With him being gone and all… Abandoning us.”

“He did not abandon us!” Thorin raged, getting into Dwalin’s face, who didn’t budge. “He… he..” Thorin’s anger dissipated, reverting into weariness, as he plopped himself onto the large poster bed, Dwalin taking a seat beside him.

“That damned parcel the council gave me… had a bunch of old notes in it.”

“Aye. Balin told me bout that. Said ye might be angry. But why?”

“Some of the letters were from my mother.”

“O dear-”

“Those didn’t upset me. It was the one from Asgard.” Thorin huffed, hands kneading away a potential headache.

“Asgard?” Dwalin repeated. “Why would they write to you?”

“Not to me Dwalin. A treaty of peace… a marriage.” Dwalin looked uncomfortable, standing and walking to the door.

“Oh sorta forgot bout that one.” He grumbled.

“Forgot about that one? So you’ve heard of it before?” Thorin questioned.

“Not exactly.  Heard the elders talk of it. Thought it was just some rumors people liked to spread. I never… no one ever upped and talked about it directly.”

“No one ever told me about it..” Thorin mopped. “Everyone knew except me. And it is to be reinforced this spring.”

“Gives enough’ time to prepare eh?” Dwalin barely managed to duck the tankard of ale thrown at him.

“Get out.”

“Look I’m sorry Thorin. Shouldn’t have said that. But what can we do now? Call it off? The council’s probably talking of it now, arranging things so you can be ushered off.”

“I won’t be _ushered_ off. I refuse to marry someone I don’t know. Nevertheless a man.”

“You wouldn’t know the difference was it not called out.” Dwalin quipped. “Besides, isn’t up to you. Have you read the letter yer father sent? There’s got te be one accepting or refusing. Certainly yer old man wouldn’t agree  now would he?”

“Thrain and I didn’t spend much time together. My grandfather raised me, I wouldn’t know.” Dwalin felt sorry for his friend, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“S’ gonna be fine. If not, then we’ll make do. I give ya my word Thorin.”

“Aye.” Thorin replied noncommittally.


	3. Small Talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki gives "Thor" a bit of a briefing!

 

“I shall be married come spring.” Hlóriði said, laying his head on the cool wood of the pub table. He surrounded himself with the company of his brothers and closest confidante, Freyr. Vidar placed a hand on his back comfortingly, looking to Freyr for help, who shrugged.

“Just think about it,” Tyr quipped. “All that pretty pennie from the bride’s dowry. So much you could buy. So much you could do. The ladies in the markets have been hysterical over the new silks imported from Rivendell.” Hlóriði sniffled, grunting as he sat up.

“There is no beloved Sif.  She never forgave me for Loki’s dark deeds.” Hlóriði replied, sniffling and wiping froth from his beard. Vidar grunted and pulled out a chair to sit beside the distressed god of Thunder.

“Well, if there is truly nothing to be done of the matter… then you are stuck. Destined to wed a short, and hairy beast of the mountains. Surely he’ll rob Asgard of every treasure and gem to be mined, and not to mention hammer to your- “Tyr was cut off from his rant by Vidar staring him down with a glare that could kill.

“Nay. I would never allow that creature to...” Hlóriði sighed, running a hand through his tangled, golden mane.

“Hammer your anvil?” Tyr finished. Vidar gives his brother a hearty smack in the back of his head, sending the younger god out of his seat.

“His visage and bed role should be the least fretted.” Hlóriði piped up to the sound of Loki’s voice.

“What do you mean?” Hlóriði questioned? Tyr, Vidar and Freyr took the intrusion as their leave, and left the two to converse.

“I presume you’ve heard the tales of Thror, King of Durin’s folk? His death has been the talk of many.” Hlóriði shook his head.

“Drowned in his riches?”

“No.” Loki did not attempt to hide his irritation, as he had to explain the entire story, of which a _Prince_ should be well versed. “In Erebor, lies a mass collection of gold and jewels. So much that you can swim in it and never come across the same jewel. While mining, as dwarves usually do, they came across a majestic jewel, so precious, so _enchanting_ that it possessed the mind of King Thror, he soon became mad over his wealth, they called it, _“Dragon Sickness._ But you’d know it as the curse of Andvari's hoard. _”_ Loki stared at Hlóriði, eyes holding something unfamiliar to the God. “There is a curse in Durin’s blood. All of Durin’s folk will surrender to the sickness.”Hlóriði appears disturbed by this revelation, his stormy blue eyes wide with many unanswered questions

“Why has Odin promised us each other if the line is doomed? I swear by Bor if I discover you lie-

“I do not. It has already overcome Thrain, and I suppose it would have Frerin, had he lived long enough... and of course, it will consume Thorin, your bride.” Hlóriði stood abruptly. “You feed me lies! Nothing more than a liesmith, A snake!.” He stormed off, rage bubbling within him like that of a Völva’s pitcher. Loki situated himself at the table. He didn’t lie… not this time. He frowned in confusion. Why didn’t Hlóriði trust him? Was he not good enough? If it weren’t for him, Hlóriði would already be dead! If it were not for him, Hlóriði would have been stuck with Sif, a maiden not unsuitable for his kin.

 

* * *

 

 

Hlóriði awoke to a heavy feeling in his gut. Something he hasn’t felt in years…. _fear._ Why was he afraid, and what of? It couldn’t possibly be Thorin that arose such a damned feeling. Hlóriði sat up, legs weighed down and stiff. Maybe a bath would suit him well. Waltzing from his chambers, he made way to the washing halls. It was empty- except for the small black cat stretching on the pools edge.

“Good morning Loki.” Hlóriði greeted the cat, stripping down and slipping into the steaming water with a sigh. Loki, then morphed into his human form, long pale limbs and a rosy face from the steam gathering in the enclosed space. His grin spread from Valhalla and back.

“Well.. You are up at an untimely hour. What bothers your mind dear nephew?” Loki questioned, slipping in next to Hlóriði. “I would like to know what keeps my brother-son from his slumber..” Loki asserted, placing a hand on Hlóriði’s muscular shoulder, who tensed.

“...What you said. About Oakenshield. I fear it may be true after all. Father seems to be avoiding me, and Frigg offers nothing but soft words of consolation. I am no child Loki. I am the future King of Asgard and I demand to know what my bride is burdened of.” His voice was grave and something rumbled in his chest. If possible, Loki’s cheshire smile grew larger.

“You had me believe you cared nothing of a dwarf’s ailments.”

“If he is to live with me, I need to know..”

’I’ve read many scrolls on the illness, first assumed only an affliction of the dragons of middle earth…” Loki carded gentle fingers through his hair, picking through tangled strands carefully. “Though that was a fairly latent idea, for the malady attacked anything with a mind.”

“But what does it do?” Hlóriði interrupted. “Should I worry I might catch it?”

“We giants have no record of bearing the sickness. It only attacks those who are bred from Stone----the mountains. The dwarves, the men, and the dragons. There are many books of it in the west wing. It would not kill you to glance them.” Hlóriði sighed, cupping water in his broad palms to wet his face.

“Ride out with me to see him.” Loki hummed, long fingers tapping against his chin.

“Give me time to think about it..”

“We don’t have time. It is only a matter of months before we are to be.” Loki clicked his tongue, moving to duck himself under the water.

“You and I both know I do not aid.. without some retribution of course.”  

“Please Loki. I will forever be in your debt.”

“As much as it kills me to refuse you, I have to decline your _majesty_. You see, I have things of my own in need of tending. Ta ta.”  And just like that, Loki was out of the water and disappearing behind the great oak doors.

“Damnit.” He cursed. There was no more to offer the trickster, so his hopes were dampered. He just needed to see the dwarf once before they wed. If he still looked the same as he did all those years ago however….

**FLASHBACK**

“Vidar! Hlóriði! Tyr!” Frigga called, watching as three young boys came racing up the broad stone stairs leading to the castle.

“Ha! I win thrice more!” The thinnest boy boasts, he is the tallest, having red hair and sinewy limbs built for speed.

“By only a grain of sand.” Came the second tallest boys reply. He was more firmly packed, and stocky, hair just as red, but sporting more of a blonde tinge. “Vidar and I could’ve beaten you had you not gotten a head start.”

“Lies.” The first boy says laughing. “I Tyr Odinson am the fastest boy in all of Asgard. Admit your defeat.” Hlóriði clonked Tyr in the back of the head. “Ouch!”

“Boys, no hitting!” Frigga chided, smiling at her sons. “Wash your faces, and prepare for dinner. We have guests.”

“Where from.”  Hlóriði questioned, tying his hair back. “Elves or men?”

“Neither.” Frigga replied. “Dwarves.” Three pairs of eyes widened.

“Dwarves?” Tyr repeated. “But why here? Shouldn’t they be watching their gold?” Hlóriði snorted,

“Not all dwarves.” Vidar answered. His brothers scrunched their noses, disapproving.

“Does this have to do with what father told me?” Hlóriði  asked. Frigga nodded, ruffling the boy's hair. “So I’ll go dress for the occasion… does that mean I have to braid my hair?!”

“Not unless it is what you desire. Now hurry along, Vidar come with me.” Vidar nodded, wobbling on his feet, wooden leg keeping him off balanced. She took his small hand, leading him up the the stairs after the boys. “We’re going to the nursery with Hodr and Baldr. Doesn’t that sound fun!” She cooed, pinching his nose. Vidar frowned staring after  his two brothers who were racing through the halls to get to their rooms.

“I’m afraid not my love. It is time for your nap- yes I know you are five, but all the reason for you to have your rest.” Vidar pouted, attempting to pull away from Frigga. “O please Vidar, do not fight me.”

“Frigga.” The woman turned to see her husband, silvering red hair and beard, his one blue eye piercing into her like a blade. She bowed respectively, kissing her husband on the cheek. “They’ll be here any minute. Everything is ready. Where is Hlóriði?”

“I just sent him off to dress. Is there something wrong?” Frigga’s brows turned down in concern as she asked this.

“Nay…” Frigg understood enough not to press the man

“Are you certain Hlóriði is prepared for such diplomacy? He has shown to have a much too loose tongue for court, nevermind his firm and impulsive judgement…” Frigg loved the child far too much to allow him to be made a fool. Court marshals and Diplomats would never allow Hlóriði to live down his idiocy even after he becomes King. The prince has one chance to make an image for himself.

“The boy is not to utter a word. I have told him this is a meeting for the Elders, he is to answer when spoken to, nothing more...nothing less.” Frigg nods her approval, allowing her husband another kiss before she and Vidar depart to the nursery.

“Father?” Tyr and Hlóriði slowly approach the All-father, trembling with childish anticipation.

“Tyr...you will not stand with us in court this evening. Your youth has been disputed, and as the circumstances fail to concern you...it is advisable you stay behind.”

 

* * *

 

 

Thorin let Dwalin out after a few hours of silent drinking, choosing to bring the night to an end. Face red from the alcohol, he climbed beneath warm sheets.

“Wed Hlóriði Odinson.” He says, recounting the letter. Yes, he remembered the name, and the face. Tall proud child with fiery red hair. Haughty in his house, while maintaining enough civility and kindness to be spared of disliking. Of course they were merely children when they met, and he alone had gone through so much change through the course of his life. No longer the lean sinewy limbed dwarfling back then, but a broad skilled warrior, built to endure. Thorin could only imagine what Hlóriði could look like now, some twenty years later. Tomorrow he would address these concerns with the Elders of the Council. For now, he turned over, willing sleep pull him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this wasn't too cringey guys c:


	4. Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin reluctantly accepts the arrangement, and sets off for Asgard

Thorin sat amongst the elders of Ered Luin, highly uncomfortable and wishing more than anything to be back in the comforting clutches of his bed.

 

“Your father had meant to tell you sooner, He never found time however, with the loss of his own father, and the threats of orcs in Moria.” Spoke one Elder dwarf, whose beard was long enough to be tucked into the belt of his tunic. “It is for the sake of our kingdom, Prince Thorin. Your brother has died,stripping you of any plausible options. Lady Dis, is wed, and neither of you have any children. It is up to you, and _only_ you.”  Thorin sat hunched in his seat, eyes fixated on the dark stone floor. Why has such a burden been put on his shoulders? Why did they not think of this before Dis was married, before Frerin died! This was absolutely ludicrous!

 

“Are there any other options? In fine print?” He questions. “There has to be something other than marriage!”

 

“We could order a meeting with the council of Asgard, with Odin himself. There however, is no guarantee of any change. The Treaty has been arranged and signed by the pen of both King Thrain, and your father. Until his fate is revealed, I am afraid the arrangement will proceed.” Another elder spoke, Norain, a thick dwarf with wild blonde hair and heavily braided beard. Dis sat in one of the seats below, giving him a piteous look, which he despised.

 

“Then… we are done here.” He said finally, lifting from his seat. Thorin ignored the nausea that engulfed him, and stiffly walked out. Dis stood, wanting to go after him, but was pulled back by her husband, Vili. Kind brown eyes stared into her blue.

 

“He will come when he needs you, let him simmer down. I know you love him but...it’s for the better good.” Dis sniffled, wiping tears from her eyes as she watched Thorin angrily push through the doors. He had about eight more months till spring.

 

* * *

 

Thorin counted down the days to the very last week. Everyone in the kingdom were bustling around making preparations. Thorin would be taken to Asgard that day to have himself  measured, and add a few tastes of his own to what the Aesir had planned for the wedding. He was very anxious, but less so with the assurance of Dwalin who would accompany him to the stony halls of Asgard.

 

“Need not be worried ma Prince. He’ll take care of ya, and if e doesn’t...well ah will.” Dwalin clasped his shoulder with conviviality. Thorin walked away from his brother-in-arms, his hand falling limply to his side.

 

“Let’s just get this over with.” He grumbled, shuffling past the large dwarf, to be helped into a cart. They would not dress until they arrived in Asgard, for now wearing their riding clothing.

 

“It’ll take ye bout’ three days to te get te Asgard. Suggest you stop every few hours or so to rest, and take refuge at lodgings when you are a good portion there.” Dis advised. “No need showing up barely able to stand. And eat Thorin. No good having ye waste away for ye meet the man.”

 

“I will.” Thorin answered, holding a band in-between his teeth as he gathered his hair back to put into a ponytail.

 

“Be safe.” A little boy says, he’s standing beside two older dwarves, and Thorin knows him as Dori and Nori’s baby brother, Ori.

 

“You too little one.” Ori beams, scribbling something down in a small leather bound book he was carrying. The cart began to move, Dwalin moving away to avoid getting run over.

 

“Come back soon!” They yelled after him, some children following the car for a short distance before stopping and waving.

 

“Farewell!” The children called. Thorin ducked his head, turning to rest his head against the wood of the seats back.

 

“Farewell.” He whispered back sadly. It was a honor to be welcomed into the home of Odinson, even if the two races did not exactly see eye to eye. Time would certainly allow change on both parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather short this one, but I hope it's not TOO cringe worth for my first update.


	5. Hear our Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My my my, didn’t expect the heir of Durin to be a looker did you?” Loki teases from beside him, both looking down at Thorin being pulled into a circle to dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my longest chapters! xD

Hlóriði rushed through the halls of Asgard, ordering servants around to “clean up this” or “get this out of here”. He was initially trying to find Loki, but the red-haired god of mischief was nowhere to be found.

 

“Hlóriði.” The woman who approaches him has long, waist length brown hair, and pale green eyes. Her expression is sad, as she draws nearer. “...so it i true? My Thunderer is to become one with a Dwarf.”

 

“I did not ask for this, If that is what you think.” Hlóriði objects, his large hands covering her own. She stares down at their intertwined fingers, tears rolling down her face.

 

“What will become of us?” She cries, stepping away from his attempted embrace. “Will you not love me...will I not be loved?”

 

“Prithee Sif. A thousand times over I would pledge my fondness. Alas, I have been imposed to fight a battle against me in odds. Our love is eternal, despite my promise to a dwarf.” She refuses to be consoled.

 

“Then why have I been informed by the word of servants? Why did the one who seems so tender, leave me to wander in darkness?”

 

“Understand I wished not to keep you ignorant, I-

 

“Nephew.” The two stopped at the sound of Loki’s silken voice. “I heard you were looking for me Hlóriði. I came to see what for.” Loki’s hair was frizzy, looking disheveled, as well as his tunic which hung off his shoulder. Sif scowled at the fellow God, eyes alight with hate and accusation.

 

“We will further this another time Lady Sif” The trickster watches her angrily storm away with satisfaction, crossing his freckled arms over a narrow chest.

 

“I haven’t all evening.” Loki snorts impatiently. “As you see, I have belated  preparations of my own.”

 

“I need your advice on what to wear.”

 

“Have you no maids? Surely your father has taught you the ways of swooning!” Loki mocked.

 

“Swooning is the last on my mind...especially concerning a _dwarf_..”

 

“I suppose that’s true...what have you in mind? Robes of blue, gold or red? How long shall you wear your pants, or rather how tight? Would you like an outfit that demands attention or respect? Or perhaps entails much more as you take him to your chambers on your wedding-

 

“Loki.”

 

“Night.” Loki finished. “Why wear something flattering? The bride was bred on war alone. Beauty is not common among them.”

 

“Stand with me just this once” Hlóriði growled, tugging Loki along by his shirt sleeve. “I will strike fear into the dwarves of the Lonely Mountains. They will think again before stepping foot into the realm of Gods.”

 

“I assure you, he’ll be too tired to notice.” Loki confirmed. “You're wasting both of our time.”

 

“Good.” As they moved down the hall, Hlóriði pushed Loki into his chambers. Large and comprised of cool colors. The bed was the biggest thing in the room, set low to the ground. Walls were a beige stone with family tapestries and weapons decorating them. A fireplace was set in the front of the room, a dark fur throw set before it, as well as on the bed.

 

“Surprisingly clean.” Loki noted, running a long finger over the chester drawer.

 

“Hmph.” Hlóriði lifted a blue set from his bed, showing it to Loki. “I thought this would do.” It was a simple pair of soft, striped pants, and a light blue tunic that came past his thighs, engraved in norwegian runes, stitched with gold thread.

 

“You did well by yourself.” Loki answered, crossing his arms over a broad chest.

 

“I was in need of confirmation. If I prove careless in my dressings, he might take me for less than my potential.” Hlóriði replied, yanking his shirt over his head. Loki looked away, occupying himself with many trinkets in the younger male's room, as Hlóriði redressed.

 

“I believed you’d have more to offer in this _space_ of yours.”

 

“No.” Hlóriði says simply, the answer muffled as he pulls the blue tunic over his head. Snorting, Loki turns around to Hlóriði pulling his pants over naked flesh, and lacing up the strings.

 

“Here, let me do your braids.” The uncle entwines his fingers through the fine strands of red, of his nephew's hair. Twisting and interlocking to create two intricate tails, which he clasped together in the back. “There. Now you look much more _approachable_.”

 

“Many thanks Loki.” Hlóriði says gratefully. “He shall be here shortly if they traveled considerably. The third day of their departure.”

 

“Th-

 

“M’lord. The guests are here.” A servant says, stopping as she passes by the door.

 

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tired and irritated, the Heir of Durin and his trusted General  arrived early in the bustling  realm of Asgard. The village was awake, just beginning to get to work, when they were spotted.

 

“Dwarves? In Asgard?” One whispered.

 

“They don’t belong here.” Says another, pulling her child out of the way of the walking siblings. Dwalin glowered, yearning to curse at their scrutiny, but held his tongue.

 

“Now, I remember why we didn’t frequently visit this place.” Thorin commented, following Dwalin and the other Royal guards as they pushed through the crowds of peasants. Personal servants brought along their belongings behind him, and they entered a royal carriage of Asgard that was waiting for them. Thorin smelled sweaty, despite the bath he took that previous night before they left. His hair was messy and he couldn't care less.  


“Hjerim at your service. Not long for we reach the kingdom. You’re in for a sight.” The coachman says. He is massive for his weight, like a giant skeleton, fur coat looking to have once belonged to an Kine of Araw. All about him declared working class, except for his hair and beard, which were a clean, pale blonde. “Further up the path and we’ll be there.” And like he spoke, they were at the kingdom in no time. Thorin however, expected more of Asgard. Golden temples, and fortresses vast and wide. Not a large stony castle with high walls and sharpened oak stakes. It was beautiful still however, though Thorin had to admit he was a little disappointed.

 

“Simple. I like it.” Dwalin says. “Not like the elves.”

 

“I’ve seen greater.” Thorin replies, wasting no time in hopping out of the cart.

 

“The king and queen have already been told of your presence. “ The gates had been opened before hand, Aesir servants coming to greet them and take their coats right at the door. Inside was much more gratifying. Walls of dark stone, and accents of deep blue and crimson stained the many bannisters and tapestries. The throne was located up a few stairs, and Thorin took a peek at the great chair, and old man who was seated in it. How large the people were! The All-father’s dark eye followed him as he and his men were ushered down the halls into separate rooms.

 

“Hlóriði has chosen the finest robes for you.” One servant says as soon as the door is closed, she points to a set of cream and gold. An intricate patterned vest over a soft cream colored shirt with laces cuffs. The tunic was a darker toned cream with a different pattern, and stitched with golden thread through the sleeves. A darker colored pants which laced from the sides in more golden colored adornments. “Desire you a bath?” her expression is flat as the plains of Gondor, and Thorin wishes she’d show either dislike or like...it’d be far easier.

 

“Please.” He answers, and quickly begins to relieve himself of the sweat slick riding wear. She picks up the clothing behind him, placing it in a basket near the door.

 

“I shall run the water.” Thorin wonders if the water is enchanted to run freely through the Kingdom. The bedroom does not match his own in the Lonely mountains, mithril engravings traded for various pelts and bone relics. The tapestries lining the walls matched the warm tones of everything else, recounting stories of Fallen Gods and Golden trees. A fire crackles brilliantly in the hearth, the flames swaying to unheard music.

 

“...Your water has been drawn.”

  


* * *

 

Hlóriði stands before a large crowd of family and friends. He feels his attire is suffocating him, The tunic he wears is a fresh white with red stitching, or embroidery.

 

“Hmm. If it be our first meeting, none would fault me for mistaking you as a Thane.” Hlóriði looks up to the light voice, blonde hair sweeping into his line of sight.

 

“Freyr.” He breaths. The Vanir smirks, keeping his distance from the altar.

 

“My dearest friend has reached an important stage in his life. Marriage. I am grateful to be a witness to such a... salient event.”

 

“This is not to be a prime tale… just another scar to remind me of the battles fought.”

 

“You haven’t even tried to bed him. You know not of a battle.”

 

“...I will come out victorious either way.” Freyr laughs at Hlóriði’s enthusiasm.

 

“Speak only honeyed words you know he will like, give him space, and he will be at your beckoning call.”

 

“Tis’ that easy?”

 

“No, but here comes your mother. I must away. Remember my words friend.”

 

“Surely they will be drowned with the mead promised in honor of our celebration!” Hlóriði calls after Freyr, who disappears in the crowd. When he turns back around, it is to the frowning face of his mother- Frigga.

 

“It would not be wise to carry on with Freyr after you are wedded.” She says softly, fixing the front of his shirt. “With how close you two are...Thorin could grow insecure.”

 

“Good. So he’ll **crawl back into a hole** and leave me be.”

 

“I don’t think so.” Frigga replies. “I believe you will be surprised, perhaps even wrong in your judgements of Thorin.”

 

“He comes shortly mother, and it would not humor me to have him see you looming over the heir of Asgard like a milk-drinker.”

 

“If it makes you happy.” The All Mother agrees reluctantly. She pushes past a tall red haired man, to stand beside her husband Odin. The man looks back at her with a snarl, coal lined green eyes hostile and tempered.

 

“Loki, what happened?” Hlóriði quizzes the older god as he comes closer. “You appear more beast like than man. Got yourself in yet another brawl I assume?” Loki growls, rubbing at his eyes, smudging the liner.

 

“I had hoped to scare away your _bride_.”

 

“If any were to instill fear, it would be he to the eyes of my people” The young prince countered, nudging Loki in the side. Loki offered a false laugh, rolling his eyes.

 

“If you’re anything like me nephew, you take what you can get. Odin has always had a- oh how do I put this... _soft,_ spot for you. He would accept nothing but the best for his son.”

 

“You can have him. As long as you agree to aid in uniting Sif and I.” The god of mischief hummed in thought.

 

“...Trust I hold true to my word, do you?”

 

“Aye.”

 

“Swear to me Hlóriði Odinson. That your bride is mine, and any offspring you lay with him to beget.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Swear!” Loki hissed, sensual demeanor changing into one that of fury.

 

“I swear, damnit Loki.” Hlóriði cursed. Eyes that had changed into a scarlet red, reverted back to their meadow green.

 

“M’lord, the Prince is approaching!”

 

“Everyone in their positions.” The priest ushers, pushing Loki out of the way, and moving Hlóriði to stand near the altar. Odin and Frigga stood next to him at a respective distance. Horns began to sing as the heir of Erebor _“waltzed”_ in, veil covering his face, masking an identity from Hlóriði, who could only make out the dark strands of hair, braided with small white flowers and mithril.

“Welcome to _Asgard…_ ” Hlóriði whispered under his breath, watching with curious eyes as the dwarf came to stand beside him. Just as he expected, the man stood no taller than the bend in his arm. He was broad yes, and from what Thorin could see through the veil, had already grown a beard. Surprisingly however, it was not long like his kin, but trimmed short.

 

_“...So petty.”_ He says without thinking, but Thorin says nothing in response, turning around to face the Gothi as the tall and gaunt man begins to speak.

 

“We are-” The priest cuts himself off as he begins to cough rather harshly, dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief. Hlóriði ignores the speckles of blood he sees, wishing the old man would just proceed. “Excuse me.” He says. “We join for the binding of two families. By soul, oath and blood.” Hlóriði then has to face the dwarf and say his vows, taking the ring from the small bearer, and holding it out to ready himself to place it on Thorin’s hand. “Hlóriði, Son Of Odin, son of Bor, do you swear to the Gods that you WANT to marry this man.” The Gothi’s cold hands clasp Hlóriði  face tight, the air tense as they wait for his response.

 

“I swear.” He answers gruffly.

 

“Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. do you swear to the Gods that you WANT to marry this man.” The Gothi reiterates his words to Thorin.

 

“I do swear, with the Gods as my witnesses.” Hlóriði  is the first to move, clasping Thorin’s smaller hand in his own, and slipping the simple golden band onto his finger. Thorin does the same, fighting the trembling in his body.

“Then by the gods, let your marriage be as fruitful as the tree which bears your life.” Thorin lifts the veil himself, and Hlóriði is left gaping like a fool. Thorin was not unattractive. A prideful prince who is mindful to his heritage and the effort taken to claim his position. Strong set jaw and calculating blue eyes set deep within their sockets, paired with an elegant shaped nose with a high bridge. His lips were set in a firm pink line, caught between a sneer and grimace, brows furrowed in a frown.

 

“..They do not expect us to show affection in the ways of men.” Thorin speaks.

 

“Neither do I...” And he leans down, Thorin’s frown growing deeper by the second. “Effort on your half would be greatly obliged.” He muttered, letting his arms slide around the shorter man’s waist, and lift him up to stand on his toes. Thorin doesn’t object, allowing himself to be kissed by the god, and even when their families and people of the town burst into praise and laughter, they say nothing and part, looking at each other grimly. Flowers are thrown about their heads, trumpets played, and girls dancing. Thorin disappears into the group of his people, his sister hugging him, and friend clasping him on the back like many times before. Hlóriði sighed his relief.

 

“My my my, didn’t expect the heir of Durin to be a looker did you?” Loki teases from beside him, both looking down at Thorin being pulled into a circle to dance.

 

“...Of course I didn’t neither did you…” How could he be so foolish!

 

“I snuck off to the stables when they arrived, took them to the castle of course. I was known then as a dirty little coachman. I wouldn't blindly make a deal with you Hlóriði. That’s not like me..” Before Hlóriði could grab the man by his throat, he found himself spiraling backwards, being tugged by the back of his shirt.

 

“Dance with your husband my friend.” Freyr says, pushing Hlóriði forcibly into the circle which broke open for him.

 

“I thought you would join your kin for a drink or two..” Thorin speaks, avoiding eye contact.

 

“I decided to dance with my husband. Are you not content?” He answers. Thorin doesn’t look too happy, more uncomfortable actually.

 

“I cannot say.” Hlóriði grabs Thorin’s hand anyways, guiding them around with the others in song.

 

**_Hear our vows, together we stand,_ **

**_United by love and joined by hand._ **

**_Our family with us, our ancestors near,_ **

**_We take our vows with goodwill and cheer._ **

 

The spinning gets faster and faster as they sing, the earth following them like a fox in the night.  Turning his head, Hlóriði makes out the blurry figures of his mother and father, clapping to the voices and smiling at them. Frigga is even leaning against the older man, appearing to be moments away from joining in.

 

**_Facing the challenge of our life_ **

**_Now as a husband and as wife,_ **

**_Truthful and honest we shall stay,_ **

**_Share our measure of work and of play._ **

 

“We will drink merrily in the halls come evening. Share tales, and feast on the falling stars.” Hlóriði tells Thorin breathily. “There I plan to have you falling over yourself.”

 

“Me? Drunk? You lack the knowledge of my race. Not all the mead in Asgard is enough to stir my intolerance.” Thorin replied cheekily.

 

“Oh but I will. You will be surprised at the things Aesir mead can do to a man, Makes the Gods lose their sanity. Add color to your cheeks, ensnare your thoughts.  Rouse the beast within.” Hlóriði had moved closer, breath on the dwarves ear.

 

“No thank you.” Thorin bit back softly, breaking all contact as he fled from the circle of dancing folk. Hlóriði looked after him, disheartened that he frightened his little wolf away.

 

“Little Wolf” Hlóriði thought to himself. Was that what Thorin was now? No longer a faceless dwarf, but a treasure  to be had. Then his mind wandered back to Sif, and her long blonde hair and light blue eyes. Her full soft lips and welcoming smile. Hlóriði thought back on the promise he made to Loki that the dwarf would be his, and everything the dwarf gave him. No one could fault him could they? If he married Sif, and gave Thorin to his second brother in arms- the son of Thrain was in fact a gift. There was no camaraderie to be had, and neither held feelings for the other. Hel, his acts to woo him were shaken off without thought!


End file.
